The Tushie Pincher
by Stef-chan
Summary: CH 3 - When Bulma and her father leave for a business trip, Vegeta is left alone with a psychopath that would one day become his toughest (and scariest) adversary: Mrs. Briefs.
1. Day 1: The Tushie Pincher

THE TUSHIE PINCHER  
DBZ © Akira Toriyama, Bird Studios, etc.  
FanFiction © Stef-chan

Dedicated to: **Pudgoose**, my very favorite of my favoritest, and **Walis**, my "phanatic" motivator.

* * *

Chapter One  
**The Tushie Pincher  
**_Day One _— _8:24 am_

It was probably the Saiyan instincts, that primeval trait both born within him and bred into his personality during those countless years of survival. "Survival of the fittest", they call it, and it was a basic survival skill to be constantly aware of everything going on in a person's surrounding. One must be alert, wary, and prepared. Always.

And it was on a certain morning that his brain buzzed, the tip of his nose tingled, his heart paced, and his stomach turned anxiously as sure symptoms of alert. The dark pupils of Vegeta's eyes glanced back and forth from every shadowed corner of the Capsule Corporation complex, as well as every character that sluggishly moved around in the lazy rhythm of a summer's hot morning.

He sensed no ill powers, no threats, no nothing. So why did he feel so unsettled and uncomfortable? He felt as if someone was watching him, waiting for the right moment to make a sure attack and kill him when he would least expect it. His death certainly would not be a loss to anyone, which was why everyone was mentally listed as his prime suspects.

He loosened the stiffness in his body and sat himself down in front of the breakfast table, eyeing the food as if poisonous contents were hidden inside and were waiting to burn a hole through his stomach like acid. He swiftly glanced at the kitchen tools hanging on the wall beside the stove—murder weapons? That butcher knife certainly did not look very safe and harmless; even a mere human could take advantage of him if he was to be stabbed by something so ferociously large and sharp. He warily glared at his glass of water. _Was_ that water? If not, then what is it? He _would_ pick up the glass and sniff the content to make sure that it was drinkable, but held no intention of making a complete fool out of himself before these strange creatures.

And he still felt those eyes on him… Who the hell was looking at him?

"Honestly, Vegeta," Bulma snorted, her eyes staring at the plate of hot, steaming breakfast rolls. She grabbed one and then glared at Vegeta; he stiffened inwardly. Glaring people were never to be trusted, even if this woman was glaring out of annoyance. "You've been living here for three months now, and that's not including the time you lived with us while the Nameks were here, and you're still acting as if we were plotting to kill you or something."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. …What was that supposed to mean?? Was that her silent suggestion for him to flee the planet while he was still alive?

"Vegeta, knock it off," she barked as she spread butter on her roll. "Listen up, you. Your seriously weird mood swings creep me out sometimes. One minute you're being a total jerk and the next you act like some undercover agent. For Pete's sake, there's no one here but you, me, Bunny, and Papa, who spends most of his time in the laboratory and out of your way anyway. Loosen up, will you? And just trust us."

"A real warrior will never 'loosen up'," he responded tartly, and deciding to risk the possibility of food poisoning, grabbed a roll for himself and took a big bite out of it. Besides, the Old Woman's cooking, whether it be poisoned or not, was just way too tempting. "And there is no one here that I would trust," he mumbled with his mouth full. "Not you, not your scatterbrained mother, or even your father. Anyone and everyone on this mudball are not to be trusted."

"Says the man who tried to kill _us_ those years back," Bulma retorted, rolling her eyes again. "And I clearly don't remember switching roles."

"We never switched rolls," Vegeta said absent-mindedly as soon as he swallowed. "I already ate mine, idiot."

Saiyans. They weren't wrong when they said that Saiyans were clearly not the intelligent type. Bulma was caught between laughing and being stupefied, but decided to go for the latter. She took a much smaller bite than Vegeta just as her mother strolled over to the table and cheerfully placed plates and plates and even more plates of food. Before turning to snatch more plates, she stopped beside Vegeta, patted his back in a motherly fashion, and complimented him on his "healthy appetite".

"Why do you bother being so nice to that dumb jerk?" Bulma queried as she dipped her spoon into the bowl of soup and sipped. "He's rude, conceited, and all-in-all, just plain _weird_…"

Vegeta grunted in response, as if he had no problem with Bulma's adjectives, for he could definitely say the same things about her. He was much more concentrated on the food (good thing it wasn't poisonous) than any opinion of a worthless human girl.

"He's such a sweetheart," Mrs. Briefs giggled, and Vegeta would have cringed had his mouth not been full with all the delicious foreign dishes. "He's a _very_ nice young man and…" She giggled again. "He's so cute. I haven't seen a boy with that kind of a tushie since Yamcha!—and in more ways than one, Vegeta's, here, is much, much cuter. It must be all those long hours of working out."

Vegeta smirked. _Finally, someone who realizes that I am far better than that weakling in every way possible…_

"Oh spare me!" gagged Bulma, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment for her mother. "And WHAT are you doing looking at the behinds of all the guys, anyway? And my boyfriend, no less?!"

Mrs. Briefs only giggled and walked off, not at all intending on answering her daughter's question.

And Vegeta's sixth sense still tingled—things a lot weirder were sure to happen.

* * *

Yea, they tingled all right.

As soon as Vegeta stepped out of the gravity room a while after the Briefs's lunchtime (a meal that he always missed out on so he could spend the extra time training) and entered the living quarters of Capsule Corporations, those sixth senses started kicking in like crazy. He had only taken one step into the house and already he felt the tension in the air—and he still felt those eyes… If only he could catch who the spy was. He still could not discern any distinct, odd ki.

Sure enough, though, he was right about the tension for Dr. Briefs was pacing back and forth, looking at his wristwatch, then at the grandfather clock beside him, and then at the stairs that led to where all the bedrooms were. Interestingly odd humans. He shrugged it off and headed towards the kitchen to find himself a glass of water, when he heard those familiar footsteps bounding down the stairs: Bulma's footsteps.

He glanced at her without any care but was taken by surprise when he saw her holding onto lavender-colored suitcases (by the millions, he thought) and was actually dressed out of her casual jeans and CC T-shirt. A business suit. Is that what humans called it? It was a white suit jacket and a matching skirt, accompanied by matching white heels and he noticed that her hair wasn't a ball of fluff anymore like it had been in the morning. …When the heck did she straighten it out?

"Oh! Vegeta!" Bulma panted as she dragged down the suitcases. "Give me a hand, will you?"

He just stood there.

"Ugh! Nevermind. Listen, Papa is asking me to help him with this business deal. He thinks it's a great opportunity for me to learn the business side of CC rather than just the manual, so I agreed and decided to go with him. I'll be gone for four days. Is that okay with you?"

"Do you honestly think I care?"

She frowned. "Well, you'll be home alone with my mom for three days but I'm _sure _it doesn't matter to you, as long as you get your dose of food every morning and night. If something goes wrong, however, be sure to call me. Here's my cell phone number." She stopped by a counter and ripped off a part of an envelope, then scribbled down ten digits with her less-than-impressive handwriting. It was definitely the handwriting of a mechanic's. "Not that you'll call but just an FYI kind of thing."

He just stood there.

"Okay and one last thing…" Bulma's face darkened. "You've been cooperating—in your own standards, anyway—for the past year and I want it to remain that way. If you, by any chance, jump into that weird mood swing of yours and you blow ANYTHING up or even dare think about harassing Bunny, I swear I'll do something about it. I'll…I'll go to your precious 'Kakarot', call him over, make sure he dislocates every bone in your body and then kick you off into space, where you'll suffocate and DIE. Is that clear?!"

Vegeta had a weird mental image of his X-eyed, bone-dislocated self floating out in space while stick figure versions of Bulma and Gokou laughed uproariously at him. …NOBODY LAUGHS AT THE _SAIYA-JIN NO OUJI_! His face darkened, darker than even Bulma's, and he nodded once.

"Fine."

"Good boy! I'll give you your doggie treat once I get back," she joked, but he did not find the remark funny. It was rather insulting, actually. She straightened her face and cleared her throat. "Okay well… If you're not going to help me with my bags, then that's just fine. I'm saying my good-byes here. …Bye."

Grunt.

She rolled her eyes and joined her impatient father, and not a second later, the door slammed shut and everything was silent. He was alone.

Good riddance.

* * *

Somewhere in the shadows, a pair of blue eyes opened as soon as the door was closed. It followed Vegeta as he walked over to a water bottle and chugged the contents down. The eyes stared at every single movement made, from the way his head bent back as he drank, to how his Adam's apple bobbed as the clear liquid slid down his throat… _Oh Kami help me! _The eyes looked fixedly at the stream of water dripping and sliding down his neck…down his chest…and then dampened that blue spandex training material.

The owner of the eyes stopped breathing when Vegeta paused and looked about him, as if sensing her presence, then breathed again when he shrugged those beautiful, sweat-matted chiseled shoulders and strolled back towards the gravity room. Oh those beautiful muscles… How they naturally flexed and rippled with every movement. And the eyes, the spying blue eyes, looked down from the flame of his hair, to his narrow waist, and then stopped at his torso.

The Tushie Pincher smiled; the eyes and the set of white teeth the only things visible in the darkness.

* * *

**To Be Continued…**

* * *

Stef-chan's Notes

Ahhh...I can't wait until I start posting future chapters! It's going to be one strange and tormenting ride for poor Vegeta, who, at this point, has no idea what's in store for him. Anyway, it's been an incredibly long time since I posted anything new that's _not _a one-shotter. I remember the good ol' days when I popped out a new story every other week. My, my... You know I still have those bazillion-and-one stories saved onto my computer. Just last night, I was reading through my A Shoulder To Lean On trilogy and was laughing at how horribly it was written. Oi...

Anyway, there's more where this came from. Expect a new chapter soon and, quite possibly, another new story. Until next time!


	2. Day 2: Eyeballs, Fish, and Carrots

Summary of Last Chapter:  
Vegeta's not very thrilled about staying with the Briefs during those "three years". He has the odd premonition that something—or someone—is out to get him. Eventually, however, he is hit with the news that Bulma will be off on a business trip with her father and will leave Vegeta alone for three days. Things seem pretty normal, until the very end of the chapter when we read about the Tushie Pincher. Hmmm…

* * *

Chapter Two**  
Eyeballs, Carrots, and Fish  
**_Day Two – 6:35 am_

The next day, Vegeta was in a very good mood. It was a beautiful day out, and he planned on spending the beautiful day in dedication to performing the tasks on his To Do list, starting from the very first of his many, many priorities:

_- Rip some new muscles  
- Turn Super Saiyan  
- Destroy the androids  
- Broil Kakarot in his own blood and feed his remains to stray dogs  
- Dismember Kakarot's son, the overgrown green leprechaun, little Dome Head, the three-eyed wonder, Loud Mouth's boyfriend, and so on and so forth.  
- Decapitate Loud Mouth  
- Disembowel Loud Mouth's mother  
- Asphyxiate Loud Mouth's father  
- Vaporize Loud Mouth's ashes  
- Obliterate this accursed planet  
- Then set out to take over the universe so he could rule it with an iron fist_

It was perfect. All of that could be done in approximately three years. Three years was plenty of time to turn Super Saiyan; he was sure of it. In these next three days without interruptions from said "Loud Mouth", he could surely improve his strength and reach levels he had never reached in his entire lifetime. Vegeta was beginning to get fed up with her poking her nose into his business.

"It's always 'Vegeta, stop causing such a racket!' and 'Vegeta, you're creating annoying earthquakes!' and 'Vegeta, stop scaring my parents!'" Vegeta said to himself, raising his voice to an unbelievably high pitch whilst mimicking his house mate. "Talk, talk, talk… It's all that motor mouth ever does!"

He moved his head side to side, cracking and popping whatever joints and muscles in his neck, before standing perfectly still and listening to the beautiful sound of silence. He curled a nasty grin from ear to ear. Oh, what a glorious feeling it was, knowing that for three beautiful days, he would not have that suspiciously annoying harridan breathing down his back! For three wonderful days, he would not need to watch her every movement, wondering if by any chance she was plotting to kill him behind his back or call one of her annoying friends to do the task for her.

Vegeta reached down to touch his toes, stretching out the kinks in his muscles. The day would be solely spent on training. After the visit from the purple-haired-future-freako with news that his butt would be kicked by a bunch of walking artificial toaster ovens, he had not been doing anything much else.

The open window behind him invited in a nice cool breeze that was unusual so early in the morning. The heat had been unbearable for weeks now, and like the charm of a snake charmer's instrument, the unusual cool wind drew Vegeta towards the window, where at once he closed his eyes and curled a thin smile. Yesterday had been wonderful. Today and the following two more days would be just as promising.

"I'll be a Super Saiyan in no time," Vegeta said to himself in assurance. "I just need to spend every minute carefully."

His daydream of being crowned the Super Saiyan king of the universe was interrupted when he caught sight of a handful of leaves randomly falling off the oak tree in the backyard. He squinted his eyes, positive that he saw some movement from within the big ball of leaves and branches, but then shook his head, silently reprimanding himself for being paranoid again.

"The oak's just ready for autumn," he murmured, explaining the green leaves that had randomly fallen to the ground. "With Bulma gone, there is no reason to get into paranoia…"

He spun on his heels and stalked out of the room, never noticing the mysterious being that slipped down from said oak tree and crept inside the house.

* * *

"Why good morning, Vegeta!" was the greeting he received as soon as he entered the kitchen. The Saiyan refused to acknowledge the presence of the house mistress, though he did look at her long enough to notice that her hands, face, clothes, and apron were dusted with flour.

No sooner had he noticed though, his attention settled upon the breakfast table and the single plate and cup of tea set before his usual seat. It was strange to know that this would be the first day in which he would eat in this house in complete silence. The mountain of food stacked on that single plate would be solely his to eat, but whether the fact pleased him or not was beyond him. He had to admit, he was going to miss aggravating Loud Mouth every morning by doing the things she hated most, like belching after every completed plate or constantly using his fingernail to pick stuff off of his teeth.

Oh well. No big loss.

With Bulma and her ingenious father out of the way, he would not have to waste the usual five minutes pondering over whether or not his food might be poisoned. He knew for a fact that Mrs. Briefs was too dumb and too air headed and too _fond _of him to devise such a plan; so knowing this, he dug right into his food without a moment's hesitation. So at ease was he that he never noticed the old woman slipping into the seat beside his, until he unintentionally took a whiff at her scent of sweet perfume and vanilla extract. In mid-bite, he looked up at her and scowled.

"I'm eating, stupid. Sit somewhere else," he complained irritably, making sure to avoid eye contact, even though Vegeta was positive that the old lady lacked eyeballs. _Humans are _so _unnerving._ "If you don't want me sputtering rice all over your face, then I suggest you give me some room."

The woman smiled pleasantly and patted his arm the way a grandmother would pat her arrogant grandson.

"It pleases me that you have such a healthy appetite," she said, completely ignoring what the Saiyan had said. "A lot of Bulma's friends, save for that nice young man, Gokou, never seem to appreciate my cooking."

Vegeta lowered his chopstick.

"Who said I appreciated your cooking?" He frowned. She smiled. "Stop insinuating such things! The human gourmet is completely contemptible. It lacks proper amounts of protein, calcium, and iron, which can explain why the inhabitants of this planet are ridiculously feeble, not to mention that this crap tastes like absolute filth! Your culinary skillsare no exception!"

"Why thank you!" the woman giggled, fondly slapping his arm in appreciation of what she believed was a compliment.

Vegeta stared at her in bewilderment, before scowling again and pushing himself out of his seat. Forget breakfast. If she planned on gluing her eyeball-less eyes at him during the entirety of breakfast while believing that he was complimenting her less than flattering food (even if it _was _actually quite…flattering…), then forget it! He would much rather train on an empty stomach before putting up with such an enigmatic imbecile. He stood up and tossed his napkin onto his plate.

"If it pleases you so much whenever I eat your cooking, then I prefer not to eat at all," he rudely spat, before spinning on his heels once more and stalking out of the house, followed by an audacious, "Humans… Feh!" And all the time, even after he slammed the door behind him, he still felt those eyeball-less eyes on his back.

* * *

Vegeta did not like "Kakarot" for many different reasons.

For one thing, the man _had_ to be the world's greatest mystery. He lacked the mentality of a true Saiyan, but the idiot sure wasn't human, either. He was a specimen of an entire new species altogether. The brain of this so-called Saiyan could not be larger than half his belly button, and his soul, which everyone dubbed as virtuous and all-around _good_, was, in Vegeta's opinion, lost. Only a character with a lost soul could behave so absurdly _nice._

It was pitiful.

Yet the perplexing thing about this moronic "Kakarot", however, was not his personality (which, with his lost soul, was also a lost _case_), but rather the fact that he was a _very_ capable fighter. In fact, Vegeta had to admit that Gokou was currently the very _best_. The man whooped the butt of the great and almighty prince of Saiyans, humiliated a universal white lizard-squid-jellyfish tyrant, saved the lives of millions of populations, mastered unimaginable techniques, and reached the legendary feat called Super Saiyan. It was downright unfair.

Every time he even _thought _about that pinhead, it set his blood boiling. Hatred and jealousy oozed through his veins like lava, and when he imagined hearing that _excruciatingly _annoying laugh, Vegeta thought his eardrums would pop and his entire head would explode. Whenever his brain counted the many times the aloof half-wit embarrassed his manly Saiyan pride, his hands would shake, his face would twitch, and his toes would curl into a second set of fists.

If his indignation over "Kakarot" did not push him to the Super Saiyan level, he didn't know _what _would.

"I hate him!" Vegeta shouted in rage as he continued his ministration of punches and kicks at the imaginary figure of Son Gokou. "I hate you! Die, Kakarot! Rot in hell, Kakarot! May your corpse become infested with ugly white maggots, Kakarot! _I hate Kakarot!_"

With a final scream that made his aura explode with a bright ki that lasted for only a moment (but was powerful enough to shatter all the glass in the gravity room), Vegeta fell to his knees in complete exhaustion.

He breathed in and out, willing himself to calm down before rage got the better of him. When the tenseness of his aching muscles finally relaxed, Vegeta crawled over to the shattered pieces of what had been the full-length mirror Bulma had installed inside the gravity room for Vegeta to use. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, back leaning against wall, and his hand randomly picked the largest fragment of the mirror. The enervated Saiyan looked at his reflection and frowned at the sight of his flushed and sweat-drenched face.

His hair was black.

"I've reached my max," he said between pants, and then gently placed the mirror fragment back where he found it. He dragged his hand down his face in frustration. "I'm still not a Super Saiyan. I've trained for six straight hours with neither water nor food"—his stomach growled in affirmation—"and I have done nothing but focus on the things that enrage me and the things that motivate me into trying my hardest. What am I doing wrong?"

"You're not doing _anything _wrong, sweetheart," said a voice and Vegeta literally jumped three feet into the air. His heart, which had already been thumping due to six hours worth of exercise, thumped even faster. He stared at his intruder—Mrs. Briefs—in exasperation.

"Woman, you scared me!" he exclaimed, mentally wishing he could chuck all those mirror fragments into her face—or use them to slice open her eyelids so he could confirm that the woman lacked eyeballs. "When the _hell _did you come in?!"

"Only a while ago—"

"—_EH?!_ '_A while ago_'?!—"

"—When you said something about hating carrots. I'll…I'll remember next time to exclude carrots in my recipes. They're awfully good for your eyes, you know." _Yeah, lady, and you would know because…you _have _eyes? _"It's stuffed with nummy vitamin A! I remember when Bulma refused to eat carrots. I dyed them pink, chopped it up into little pieces, and sprinkled it over her rice. She's loved it ever since."

He stared at her.

"Why are you telling me this?" he inquired numbly. "Why are you in my gravity room? Why are you talking to me? Just what kind of a brainless, mindless, _clueless _creature are you?"

"You're too kind, Vegeta dear," she said with a warm smile, and if Vegeta did not know any better, her fingers started twitching anxiously. He tensed. "You mustn't compliment me so often. It might make my daughter jealous."

_…What?_

He shook his head, mentally telling himself that this woman, who looked young enough to be Bulma's younger sister, was probably extremely senile on the inside and was only displaying the symptoms of old age. Alzheimer's, perhaps? Maybe the lady was schizophrenic. Perhaps a victim of amnesia? Has her hippocampus been disturbed recently? Whatever her problem was, he finally remembered why he always made it a priority to avoid this strange woman. He recalled that one time, he had told himself that he would much rather be food poisoned by Loud Mouth and have seventeen butcher knives stabbed into his back than to be forced into five minutes of picking apart Mrs. Briefs's brain.

Feh.

Already, he was spending too much valuable time wondering about her. He stood up and dusted himself with nonchalance, as if his earlier monologue about his hatred for Gokou had not even occurred. Without so much as another word, he spun on his heels and stalked out of the gravity room.

* * *

So it was **noon**. There were still plenty of hours left in the day for him to give it a second shot on this whole Super Saiyan thing. But first, he just _had _to get _something _in his stomach. Skipping breakfast (the most important meal of the day!) had been a poor decision on his part. His empty stomach had probably been the cause of being held back from achieving the coveted legendary feat—or so he liked to believe, anyway.

He trudged his way into the kitchen and looked around, wondering where he could begin when there were so many cabinets and closets and drawers. Having never been inside the kitchen before to look for food, as meals were always prepared for him, he started first with the drawer that ended up being a house of can openers and then to a cabinet that revealed delicate tea cups. He groaned. At this rate, it would take him all day to find something to eat.

His eyes wandered over to the big white box—refrigerator?—and quickly recalled a time when he had seen Bulma pull out a healthy slice of chocolate cake wrapped in a flimsy, transparent cover thing. Vegeta's stomach growled, propelling him to move towards the big white box and encouraging him to yank open the door. To his greatest dismay, however, he found the refrigerator thing, which blew cool air on his face, completely empty. He slammed the door shut and yanked open the smaller door on top. The air was even cooler there, but to his misfortune, all he found was a single frost-covered box. He closed the door, but not before taking the box out.

**MICROWAVE BUDDY**, the box read, followed by **CHICKEN TERIYAKI STRIPS** in big, bold yellow letters.

Vegeta ripped open the box and shook out several of this so-called Microwave Buddy chicken teriyaki strips, only to shake out several frost-covered rocks. _What the hell is this?_ He took a strip, sniffed at it, licked it (which led to his tongue being stuck onto it for a while), then popped the entire thing into his mouth. The warmth of his mouth melted the frost instantly, but these cold, frozen strips, whatever the hell they were, crunched in his mouth like, well, rocks. Vegeta's face contorted.

"No wonder Kakarot is brain damaged!" he shouted, sputtering the Microwave Buddy all over the kitchen counter. "Being fed stuff like this, it's no wonder indeed! Humans are so ludicrous!"

Furious, Vegeta stalked out of the kitchen and on towards his bedroom, where he would take a quick nap before engaging himself into another round of training. He stopped before his bedroom door when all of a sudden, his sixth senses started doing that strange little thing again; his brain buzzed, the tip of his nose tingled, his heart paced, and his stomach, albeit its being famished, turned anxiously. With unsteady hands, he placed his hand on the doorknob, turned, and pushed the door open.

Vegeta's eyes widened at the scene he saw before him. For just a split instant, he felt somewhat scared of this sudden unpredictable and spontaneous _redecoration _of his room, for there before him on the floor were plates and endless plates of food, all lovingly adorned with intricate details that could only be mastered by the king of culinary arts. Strawberry cheesecake oozing with real strawberry syrup, baked fish encircled by tailless fried shrimp, toasts smothered in grape jelly and golden butter, whole pig with a shiny red apple in its mouth and garnished with fields of parsley, sushi and sashimi finely decorated with _wasabi _and ginger, soup with chunks of potatoes and carrots and onions and beef, wine glasses filled with blueberries and whipped cream, scoops of vanilla ice cream—still frozen—drenched in gooey chocolate fudge, beer bottles and soda bottles and juice, cocktail, and smoothies, pasta and noodles and fried rice and plain rice, T-bone steaks and sausages and chicken and lamb, livers and hearts and snouts and gizzards, fried squid and fried alligator and fried frog legs and fried vegetables, melons and cantaloupes and oranges and pears, lobster and crabs and mussels and oysters…

"Good…_Kami_…"

The aroma of a _banquet _both enticed his nostrils and made his mouth water, but his eyes, the only part of him not pleased with the interesting display, were wide with shock. It was highly disturbing, after all, to see every inch of his floor and bed covered with food. But who…?

Ah. Mrs. Senile.

He turned around as if expecting to see her there, and he wondered just why the woman would go through the trouble of presenting him with such delicious—_No! Not delicious! Disgusting!_—food. Was she insane? Should he actually eat it? Or would eating it indicate that he had succumbed to her and was therefore weak? But that fish… It was practically _calling _his name. NOT THAT HE WOULD EAT IT! Never! He will never eat this piece of…

…Should he eat it?

…He shouldn't. Something as suspicious as this _must _be poisoned! The mere thought of being poisoned by that woman set the fine strands of hair on his head to stand—never mind the fact that they were already naturally standing.

Nonetheless, he was completely famished and if he could not get any food into his stomach in the next three minutes, he would pass out and die of hunger. Because of his dire need to survive (for how could he possibly take over the universe if he was dead?), he gingerly floated on top of the food and, hesitantly, starting with the baked fish and the tailless fried shrimp, began to eat.

Unbeknownst to him, things were about to become a lot weirder.

* * *

**To Be Continued…**

* * *

Stef-chan's Note

Oh it'll become _a lot _weirder, Vegeta dear. _A lot_ weirder. To the point where even the readers will squirm in their seats and think again about staying in the house all by themselves. Already, I find myself feeling uneasy whenever I visit a retirement center or nursing home.

Anyway, I want to thank you all for your very kind reviews. I never expected to receive positive feedback—I didn't expect _any _feedback, to be quite honest—and so you can imagine my surprise! I had forgotten how reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It certainly motivated me into writing. Hint. Hint. (A more obvious hint: KEEP THOSE REVIEWS COMING!) Lol!

And in answer to **Lady Iorny's** question about _why Vegeta cannot sense the Tushie Pincher's ki_:

Well, he kind of does. I mean, why else would his "sixth senses" be kicking in like that? He's always feeling somewhat wary with the idea that someone's watching him. This is a time period when I'm sure Vegeta does _not _trust the friends of his Super Saiyan rival. And keep in mind that if you have not caught it already (but surely you have, since the summary of the story kind of reveals it to you), the Tushie Pincher is Mrs. Briefs. Vegeta does not suspect Mrs. Briefs to be a little spy, because she seems extremely harmless.

Also, it's been a while since I've watched Dragonball (or any anime, for that matter), so I don't know if I'm making this fact up or not, but I _believe _that in the beginning of Dragonball Z, the fighters did _not _have the capability of reading ki. That's why they used scouters. However, I do believe that they can _feel _explosive powers and perhaps make an educated _guess _on who's stronger than who. I've always been a slight disbeliever of fanfictions that make Vegeta capable of reading _everyone's_ ki and determining whose ki belongs to who when the people are not even fighting or encouraging their ki levels to rise. And also, if you have not caught this fact already, this is taking place during the _beginning of "those Three Years"_—probably the most critical three years of Vegeta's life. Bulma's still dating Yamcha; Vegeta can't turn Super Saiyan yet; etc.

I hope that answered your question, **Lady Iorny**. Hehe. And for the rest of you, I'll see you in my next installment! Until next time!


	3. Day 2: Interior Designing

Summary of Last Chapter:  
Vegeta is ecstatic that he would be able to train in peace with Bulma and her father gone for three days, and though everything appeared pleasant enough, it began occurring that his only housemate, the renowned Mrs. Briefs, was still there, distracting him and annoying him and, to a certain degree, scaring him. It was bad enough that she was always being so impeccably nice to him, but when she "surprises" Vegeta with fields of food covering his bedroom floor, he knew _something _about her just _had _to be a little off…

* * *

Chapter Two**  
Interior Designing  
**_Day Two – 6:24 am_

"Oh good god…" mumbled Vegeta as he stilled his spinning head and sat up from bed. He had a migraine the size of Bulma's mouth and for once, though he was always abject about drugs, Vegeta craved for some of those white pill things called aspirins. He recalled Loud Mouth mentioning one day that those tiny pills were miracle workers for killer headaches.

Why was his head spinning anyway?

The room was dark, for his bedroom curtains shut out any stray gaps of light, and when his eyes glanced at the digital clock on the night stand, he read **6:24**. Was that six-twenty-four in the morning or six-twenty-four in the afternoon? In either case, what was he doing sleeping and mulling about migraines when he could be out training? Did he not fully understand that it was pivotal for him to exercise to his heart's content while certain members of this household were absent?

He touched his chest and felt his blue spandex. He felt his feet and touched his training boots. Obviously, he had neither showered nor changed clothes, indicating that the six-twenty-four could only mean one thing: He just wasted _at least_ a good six hours worth of training.

He recalled what happened now. He had been pissed off about Son Gokou, then he had a brief conversation with that senile old woman, then he chewed on rocks called teriyaki, and then he came upon plates upon plates of really great food. He could not remember anything much after that, except that he started yawning during his large meal as if he hadn't had a wink of sleep for decades, and…

…And he must have fallen asleep. He had fallen asleep a little past _noon_. …Why had he been so sleepy so early on in…the…day…?

Vegeta sprang from bed.

"WHAAAT!"

Wait 'til he got his hands on that despicable woman! _I don't care what Bulma says! She must have put sleeping sedatives into my food, for no way in hell could I have slept through six (or eighteen) perfectly good hours! She practically poisoned me without managing to_ kill _me! _I'm_ going to kill _her!

Vegeta flicked on the bedroom lights and nearly shrieked at what his eyes betrayed him. Never mind the fact that the mountain of plates from his large (and poisonous) banquet was missing—for _that_ could be explained quite easily—but the contents of his bedroom were completely rearranged. The wardrobe, which had once been sitting on the left corner, was now on the right. His mirror, which had been beside the wardrobe, was now on the opposite wall. His lamps were at the foot of his twin-sized bed (which was against the window when it had clearly been against a wall before) and the lampshades, formerly blue, were painted red. The carpet rug, which had been on the floor, was nailed to the ceiling, and when Vegeta looked for the hot fudge stain he had made, he found the stain vanished.

His head hurt.

Vegeta slowly walked out of his bedroom, believing that whatever Mrs. Briefs had put into the food was just playing tricks on him. Yet to his dismay, it was not just his bedroom that had been turned upside down, _but the entire house_.

Walls were painted bold red. White doors were black. Picture frames were hanging upside down (and slightly slanted). Plants were replaced with white marble sculptures of semi-nude men. Fluorescent lights were replaced with hanging chandeliers. Couches were draped in red sheets and placed in odd locations. The television was missing. The old-fashioned rugs were replaced by contemporary ones with bold splotches of red and yellow. Curtains shut out all traces of the outdoors. Huge murals of wild, indecipherable images covered the kitchen walls.

And candles… So many red candles…

Vegeta suddenly felt claustrophobic. His heart raced and his breathing quickened. Panicked that such a dramatic change could take place during a single nap, Vegeta wandered around aimlessly before deciding to seek out the one person who was liable to the responsibility.

"MISSUS BRIEFS!" he shouted, using her name for the first time in his entire life. "WHAT IN THE WORLD IS GOING ON!"

He quickly spun around when he felt a warm breath against his neck, only to find Mrs. Briefs, dressed in her usual flour covered apron, standing there with a bowl of beaten eggs in one hand and an eggbeater in the other. He took a step back.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked in full concern over his half-flushed and half-drained face. She stopped beating the eggs and looked at him through her closed eyes. "Is something the matter?"

Vegeta burst out in mock laughter, incredulous that she had the gall to even ask such a ridiculous question.

"You're asking me if 'something' is the matter!" he asked hoarsely. He waved his hands around, motioning first to the walls and then to the sculptures, and then to the unlit red candles. "What does it look like to you, woman! You have completely changed this house around! (How did you even manage to do all this on your own, anyway!) Are you _blind_? Do you truly not have any eyes?"

The woman smiled warmly—affectionately—at the bewildered Saiyan before her. Leaving the eggbeater inside the bowl, she led Vegeta over to the kitchen by his arm and urged him to sit down on a red stool with the word **PASSION** painted onto the seat in bold, gold lettering.

"What would you like to eat for dinner?" she asked, oblivious to the dumbfounded expression on his face. "I went grocery shopping while you were asleep and restocked the fridge. I hadn't expected you to wake up so soon."

"I slept for six hours!"

"Eighteen."

"EIGHTEEN! I SLEPT FOR EIGHTEEN HOU—(Pause)—_DON'T _try to change the subject with me. What have you done to this house!"

She appeared to be pleased, for a smile, bashful and giddy, curled at the corners of her small, pouty red lips.

"Do you like it? Bulma called while you were asleep and mentioned that she's bringing in one of those important business people when she comes home tomorrow. She wanted me to clean the house and, if I had the time, redecorate. Do you like it?"

"NO!"

"Well that's a shame…"

The smile on her face disappeared instantly, as if Vegeta's disapproval had truly gotten to her. Without another word, she turned around and began furiously beating the eggs again.

Vegeta stood up and shakily left the house, knowing that only exercise could calm his elevated nerves.

* * *

After a hard work out session, Vegeta sprawled across the lawn and stared up at the sky, which, as always during that time of day, was bright blue in color and infringed with poofy white clouds. By now, his system was just about cleared of the sleeping sedatives that had been running through his blood and the drowsiness in his eyelids and the pain in his temples were beginning to stop retarding his senses.

Tomorrow, Bulma would be home, and to his own amazement, he was looking forward to her arrival.

"Just wait until that girl steps into the house," he said to himself, the corner of his lips curling into an anticipating smile. "I am going to scream her ears off about her idiotic mother. Won't that be fun? I've done her a wonderful and _generous_ favor, enduring these past several hours without beheading that strange creature. She owes me a better gravity room three times its strength and size."

Vegeta sat up as soon as his stomach growled. How his stomach could be so hungry after all the food he had consumed last night was beyond him. It had been twice in a row that he skipped his habitual breakfast meal, and as a man who was very anal about his physical well-being, it bothered him that twice in a row, he skipped the most important meal of the day because of Mrs. Briefs.

Mrs. Briefs.

Boy… What a hoot. She was completely bonkers.

Honestly, cooking for him was acceptable (though the sleeping pills were not). Rearranging or buying new furniture would've been acceptable. Painting the walls could have been, perhaps, acceptable.

_But explain to me the _amount _of food in my room! Explain to me the picture frames hanging upside down! Explain to me my topsy-turvy bedroom, for surely Bulma's guests would not even _bother_ intruding into _my _sleeping quarters! I liked my room the way it was, and having the rug nailed to the ceiling is just plain ridiculous! This _Bunny _character is crazy—just absolutely crazy!_

He frowned. She just _had_ to be crazy.

Vegeta shook his head and re-entered his gravity room, deciding that it was best to starve and wait until dinnertime instead of crawling back to the Microwave Buddy teriyaki strips of yesterday. To his surprise, however, as soon as both his feet were inside the gravity room, his eyes fell upon the red tablecloth spread out beside the control panels, followed by a glass of red wine, a single lit red candle, and plates of steaming grilled steak and potatoes. Polished silverware was carefully placed on a decoratively folded white cloth napkin. Beside it was an envelope.

He wished that sixth sense of his would stop going all haywire on him. It was starting to get redundant.

Cautiously, after looking all around him to make sure that no one (particularly that woman) was around, he stepped over to the tablecloth of food and picked up the envelope without letting his mouth water too much. With nimble fingers, he opened the envelope and pulled out a letter that smelled of sweet perfume and vanilla extract.

_I apologize for startling you with my redecorating the house.  
I grilled this steak for you as a token of my apology.  
At seven tonight, meet me in my bedroom._

_Affectionately,  
Bulma's mother_

_P.S. I assure you that there are no sleeping sedatives (or any sedatives) in the food.  
I swear I won't put anything in your food ever again._

Vegeta stared at the letter in disbelief. He had exited the gravity room and "sprawled across the lawn" only five minutes ago! Just when did that crazy woman enter his gravity room and set all of this up? And without Vegeta even smelling that delicious scent of grilled meat? Perhaps the sleeping sedatives had _not _entirely left his system, for surely _something _was retarding his usually sharp senses.

Out of indignation, Vegeta burned up the letter and tossed its ashes onto the ground.

"To hell with this! I don't care _what _she assures! I'd rather rot in hell before I eat her cooking ever again!"

He crossed his arms and stared at the tempting plate of food, never noticing the figure standing behind him until the stranger commented in a deep, throaty voice,

"Then can I eat it?"

Vegeta screamed and jumped in surprise. Wide-eyed, he whirled around, expecting to see Mrs. Briefs again, only to find that to his relief, it was only his greatest adversary, Son Gokou. _Kakarot_, with his index finger pressing his forehead (he must've used that Instantaneous Transmission thing), stood there with a grin plastered onto his face and his eyes plastered onto the plate of food. He was wearing the familiar orange gi instead of the strange alien attire the Saiyan prince had last seen him wear, which was when Gokou had returned from Yardrat-sei and Frieza had been killed by that future kid.

But never mind what the poor excuse of a Saiyan was wearing. What was he doing in the gravity room, scaring the bejeezus out of Vegeta?

"KAKAROT!" the shorter character sputtered, his eyes still wide and his heart still beating at the speed of light. "Wh-what are you doing here! …You fool! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

There was a sheepish look on Son Gokou's face as he quirked an apologetic smile and innocently scratched the back of his head. No longer having that finger on his forehead, Gokou clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from fiddling and reaching out for the tempting slab of steak on the ground.

"Sorry," Gokou said with a smile, never noticing the scowl on Vegeta's countenance. "I didn't mean to scare you. I assumed you knew I was behind you."

"Well you assumed wrong!" The anger—and embarrassment—was evident in the proud prince's voice. "Next time, acknowledge me about your presence before you stupidly bark out your stupid comments to me behind my back!"

Gokou laughed good-naturedly and nodded in compliance, followed by a long moment of silence that was broken only when the Saiyan prince bellowed,

"So, _Kakarot_, what the hell do you want!"

That was when Gokou turned away from the steak and explained that before Bulma had left on her business trip, she had called him to ask a very important favor. Worried that without her presence keeping things in order, Vegeta would murder her mother and set the entire Capsule Corporations complex on fire, she had asked Gokou to make periodic check-ups and confirm that her worries were just being pulled out of thin air.

_"I'm counting on you, Gokou," _Bulma had said to her very solemn and serious Saiyan friend. "_Vegeta's totally weird and I don't trust him enough to leave him alone with my mother. Be on the lookout for anything suspicious, okay? And call me if anything happens."_

The Saiyan prince scowled and crossed his arms, annoyed that not only did Loud Mouth not trust him with her insane mother (though why her trust would even matter to him was beyond his comprehension), he now had to have that hateful _Kakarot _breathing down his back. The beautiful three days of peace he had been so happy about prior to all of the annoying incidents was plummeting into something less and less pleasant.

A hand touched his shoulder and Vegeta shrugged it off.

"Aww, c'mon, Vegeta," Gokou chided, his eyes still bouncing back and forth between his new friend and that tempting morsel of scrumptious food. "I won't bug you too much. I only came to check up on you and, I guess, check up on Bulma's mom, too. I'll leave right away."

"She'll need all the check-up she can get," Vegeta muttered, tightening his crossed arms. He looked away from the person he was talking to and glanced at the direction of the house, where he knew somewhere inside, the subject of his concern was probably cooking or cleaning again. "Something about her is not right."

Gokou blinked.

"Mrs. Briefs?"

"Yes."

"Why? What'd she do?"

That was when Vegeta explained the strange events that occurred ever since Bulma's departure, starting from the weird vibes he began feeling to the mountain of food found in his room the previous day to waking up from the effects of sleeping pills to the bizarre redecoration of the entire house and then finally to the letter he had recently found with the mysterious table cloth of wine glass and food. As much as he held contempt for Gokou, he could not help but feel that _maybe _the 'idiot' would help explain to him why humans possessed such abnormal behavior. As much as he hated to admit it, Vegeta was in dire need of someone to talk to.

"What did the letter say?" Gokou asked uneasily, feeling unnerved by Vegeta's careful and concise recollection.

"She apologized for flipping the house around and poisoning me with sleeping sedatives last night," Vegeta answered gruffly, and then hastily added after some hesitation, "And that I should meet her in her bedroom at seven."

Gokou blinked again, and then burst out laughing.

"Let me see the letter, Vegeta."

Vegeta grimaced.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't have it anymore."

Gokou wiped a tear.

"Where is it?"

"I burned it."

"Why?"

Vegeta growled.

"I was pissed off, stupid! What do you think?" He thought about uncrossing his arms to throw a swing at his rival's face, stopping only because of the mental image he had of this man transforming into the legendary Super Saiyan. He was still very unnerved about that and therefore did not want to provoke the stronger Saiyan…yet. "Stop laughing, fool, and answer me this one question—" Gokou coughed his last laugh. "—Was she _always _this strange?"

Gokou chuckled and responded with a question of his own: "Vegeta, are you feeling okay?" Yet when the stronger and taller Saiyan caught sight of the darkening glower on his adversary's face, he immediately ceased his laughter and explained in exasperation that yes, Mrs. Briefs was somewhat out of the ordinary, but no, she had never done anything as incredibly bizarre as nailing a rug to the ceiling or slipping drugs into peoples' food. When Vegeta asked for a word of affirmation, Gokou immediately affirmed with a solemn nod.

"Vegeta, personally, I think you're nuts," Gokou bluntly said with a slight raise of his brow. "Maybe having you reside on Earth wasn't such a good idea. You're not going crazy, are you?"

"You don't believe me!" Vegeta exclaimed, astonished. "You don't believe anything I said about the rearrangement of the house or the food or anything! You imbecile! Do I _look _like the type of person who'd hallucinate or make stories up! Do I!"

Gokou hesitated.

"Well…_no_…"

"Well then!" Vegeta uncrossed his arms and marched out of the gravity room in complete fury, expecting the lower-classed Saiyan to follow. When Gokou emerged from the gravity room, Vegeta spun around and barked, "I'll prove it to you! I will prove to you that the old woman is insane! I will _show _you the red walls and the statues and the rug nailed to my ceiling! I will show you!"

Gokou followed the prince inside the house, hoping to witness all of these things so that he could deny the sudden ridiculous notion that Vegeta was a walking, talking nutcase…or a very convincing comedian. Nevertheless, he made sure to keep the doubt unwritten on his face, for this Vegeta, homicidal mass murderer who never laughed or joked except at the faces of his dead victims, appeared to be as serious as he was in battle.

However, to the dismay of both men, upon entering the living quarters of the Hoipoi Capsule Corporations, neither Vegeta nor Gokou saw anything particularly odd or out of place. The red walls and the statues and, when Vegeta flew into his room, the rug on the ceiling…were gone. Chandeliers disappeared. Picture frames were upright again. Candles—oh, those many red candles!—were missing. Even the **PASSION **stool had vanished and the television was back in its usual spot with the dust still present on top of it.

Amidst the mass confusion came the question from a disappointed third-class Saiyan: "What red wall?"

Vegeta's eyes could not be any wider. He was going crazy. He was crazy! …_Was _he crazy! The mere idea that the great and powerful prince of Saiyans was losing his mind was incredible enough to make his head spin. Confused and completely baffled by the sudden _normalness _of the house, Vegeta's legs gave away and he plopped down on the nearest chair.

"I…I don't understand…" he rasped almost inaudibly. "It…it was all there. I know it was all there."

So stunned was he that he neither noticed nor cared to notice the grave expression on Gokou's face and the quiet mumbles about being late for his wife's lunch as he vanished with an index finger on his forehead. All Vegeta could think about was the un-rearrangement of the house and the quality of his own mental state. It was not until he told himself to breathe that he turned around and looked at Mrs. Briefs, who was standing behind him with a cheerful smile on her face and a bowl of eggs and an eggbeater in her hands.

* * *

**To Be Continued…**

* * *

Stef-chan's Notes

Sorry if the length of this chapter is shorter than the previous two. I just thought it was a good place to stop. I'll try to make future chapters a little longer. Also, I get the feeling that I kind of rushed through the last seven or so paragraphs. Oh well.

SO LET'S SEE NOW… Hmm. Poor Vegeta. He's now depicted as someone who's losing his mind. What exactly is going on? Was the redecoration of the house the real deal? Or was it just a figment of Vegeta's imagination? Or the after effect of Mrs. Briefs's sleeping pills? And what about Gokou? Will he go on believing that Vegeta's psycho? Or can he be convinced that it is Mrs. Briefs, the seemingly innocent and sweet little old lady, who is the psychopath?

Wouldn't _you_ like to know? BWAHAHAHA! Leave your paw prints on my review page, ladies and gentlemen! It'd be greatly appreciated! (And I apologize for the lateness of this chapter!)


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